Torrid Summer
by Madeleinesaint-just
Summary: This is an AU about the movie: a seaside hotel, a detective from London (Marion). She is trying to escape from her personal ghosts; but maybe going there was not a good idea.. misterious facts occur during her staying. Around Marion, her cousin, George of Nottingham, and a carousel of strange carachters; and most of all, Robin of Locksley, handsome and dangerous, and Will Scarlett.
1. An year ago in Karlsbad

TORRID SUMMER

Disclaimer: This is a fan fiction about one of my favorite movies, Robin Hood Prince of Thieves, it is an amateur work without any profit, the film and the characters do not belong to me, but are the property of Morgan Creek Productions.

Note: This story is very far from the original, I hope not to disappoint anyone, but the truth is that I love the AU, and most of my stories belong to this kind (my readers of the sites where I write usually in my country know it), though usually I prefer the period of WWII; here I made a change: we are on the English Riviera during the _Belle Epoque _(this is the first time I use this setting, I am a bit "confused", be lenient, please), and the fan fiction is in the form of the epistolary novel; there is much angst, I hope it does not disturb anyone.

Maid Marian Dubois is a wealthy maiden lady Londoner, who takes the job of a private detective, but unfortunately, she suffers from severe depression, whom she tries to vent in painting. Her cousin, George of Nottingham (who is no longer Sheriff here, but an English high society protective relative, on vacation with his wife and cousin) literally drags her to a forced vacation on the English Riviera, to help her to soothe her psychological torment; during holiday Marian writes letters to her employer and friend, who put her to the ropes: , a criminologist who in his youth had cooperated with the police in the investigation about Londoner Jack the Ripper; but during the staying occur some unexpected events, including bizarre murders, and the meeting between Marian and a very handsome mysterious man, Robin of Locksley.

Now I'll leave you to read, and I am sorry if my English is not really very good, but unfortunately, I am a foreigner!  
  
CHAPTER 1  
AN YEAR AGO IN KARLSBAD

Torquay, 15 July 1909

Dear Mrs. Parrett,  
even now, I do not know why I agreed to come here.  
The fact that my cousin has insisted so much is not enough as an excuse, but I told him yes.

After all, the infallible lawyer George of Nottingham is not accustomed to being told "no", and I could not be me, the cousin he grew up with, to tell him first; "You need to pull the plug," he said: it means to leave the cases I have on hand for at least a month, but never mind: they are for most cases of marital infidelity, no help to the police in these days. It seems that in summer the criminals go on vacation! So, why not do a private detective?  
However, now I'm here, and complaining is useless.

We immediately found a great heat: this is the worst summer of the decade, they say. And as a result, the town is a continuous carousel of families on vacation, in light jackets men and women with plumed hats: that kind of festive and enjoyable humanity straight out of a book to come to life only during the summer, in places like this.

Saying that it makes me laugh is little, but these days I find it ridiculous my whole life, so it took me a little as well to conform me to the general theater.  
We arrived at the hotel yesterday morning, and we took possession of the rooms immediately, which made Susan in solar mood, after hours in the train; and about George, the first thing he did was looking for another lawyer with whom discuss common issues, as good colleagues on vacation, with a cigar between their fingers.

The hotel is on the seafront, and has a splendid view of the Riviera and the coast almost to Paignton; the atmosphere is bright and welcoming, as is typical in seaside resorts, with plaster clear and large windows; the dining room and the tea room enjoy the best view of the sea. The customers are mostly city people, who wants to forget the daily trouble, hiding them in vacationers' gossips.

There is a certain Guy of Gisborne, lawyer of York, which as you can imagine has immediately made friends with George: they greet each other with caramel transport, and not miss a chance to compete at whist or to get together with a cigar in the smoking-room; Susan , needless to say, has already attracted the attention of the ladies with his looks fashionable, and together they spend their time around the shops.

And I? I get bored? And how!  
Unfortunately, my partner anxiety followed me from London as a shadow: I cannot even avoid it for an hour. So far, all normal, you say.  
But since I came here, things have definitely face the worst.  
My sleepless night gave way to restless and tormented dreams, and migraine has increased significantly.  
And thanks also to the season, the thought runs to an year ago.  
To Karlsbad. To Gunther.  
The sunset strolls among the fashion houses of Central Europe; the classical music concerts in the park, in the afternoon; the evenings at the theater; the dinners with dancing; the long talks at sunset.  
Am I acting like a silly little girl in love? Probably.  
The truth is that I never entirely overcame it; but the idea to undergo that new treatment of the man Freud horrifies me .. why should I tell my affairs to a stranger that I've never even seen?  
Then, the explanation is simple: Gunther was a breath of fresh air for me; obviously, having failed this air, my soul feels suffocated!  
And you do not need a doctor to understand this.  
Let alone one of those that pull to pieces your soul.  
I thought also to join him in this summer, but I soon abandoned the idea. What would be the use, but to try to revive the corpse of a dead feeling? And of course, he is not thinking more of me, in that Felix Austria made of carefree days spent in literary cafés to build a new art for a new century.  
And I should look for carefree days too, or at least that's the thought of Susan and George, who also did not explain the reason of my long silence and my sudden illness.  
I decided not to tell them anything, nor Karlsbad, nor Gunther.  
Neither of my absurd naivety of a summer ago.

Down in the street a dark-skinned man is playing an organ, surrounded by children. The sun is about to set, its slanting rays hit the sea making it look like a golden expanse.  
It 's almost time for dinner, and then I must leave you, my friend.  
But I will give you my news as soon as possible.

Heat is oppressive.


	2. Bloodless

CHAPTER 2  
Bloodless

Torquay, 18 July 1909

Dear Mrs. Parrett,  
I am writing after a particularly restless night: spasms and headaches, gave me no rest, I was able to feel them even from the depths of sleep; fortunately, at dawn they began to subside, allowing a walk along the seafront. Then I got dressed, I picked up the parasol, and sneaked out of the hotel, while all the other guests were still asleep.  
The view of the sky starting to be tinged with pink, and the sea lighting up gave me a lot of relief, so I felt inside me the energy to walk a little, breathing in the salty air: listening to the song of the sea in the hour of awakening of nature is an invigorating experience, even for a "desktop mouse" like me.  
Needless to say, the streets were deserted, also because of the oppressive heat, that even in the morning continues unabated; but this did not stop me to explore the areas surrounding the hotel.  
The beach is wide, with white sand, and is lost in the distance in the mist of morning; I stopped to talk with the dark-skinned man who plays the barrel-organ: I have known his name is Azeem, and is an immigrant from the Middle East escaped from his country because of his ideas, too moderate for fundamentalism that exists there; he is a simple man with a good heart, who spends the day to entertain tourists and children with his rhymes; he has lived here for years, and says it's a nice place to live in.  
At that point I asked him if he wasn't a little bored; and he said you will never be bored here, in the summer; I asked what the most common pastimes were, and he told me swimming, walking, going around shops and cafes, horse riding and enjoying concerts at sunset, in the park; I marveled at the fact that he had mentioned no "by night" distraction, so I asked him if the theatrical season had begun; but he had a strange reaction: he twisted his mouth, and said: "I think so, but I would avoid going around in the evening, if I were you."  
I was puzzled at this answer, and tried to learn more; he, sighing, said "Ah, you are here for the first time. But about a year ago .. ".  
He left the sentence hanging, making me curious even more: what happened so serious last year?  
Unfortunately, I haven't been able to know anything else, the man was joined by an early-morning family with three children, and with a reverence he greeted me.

Heading toward the center, I made the acquaintance of two men, who didn't really pass unnoticed: one was quite young, little more than a guy, looking great and with the vivacity characteristic of society man; the other had beautiful features, and more peaceful ways.  
The first brown-haired, with lively blue eyes and a cigar that moved loosely among his fingers; the second with big green eyes framed by blond curls, and a smile of those who disarm; both dressed in brown, trousers, waistcoat and jacket as city's gentlemen.  
We talked a little, and so I knew that the Locksley brothers, Robin and Will (these are their names), are from Nottingham, they are two wealthy landlords and reside in our same hotel; they were here also last year.  
Will, who is the younger one, continued to show me the natural beauty of the place, with that energy that flows in our veins only in the invincible years of youth; he has also offered to accompany me to Paignton! He is really good looking, and his talk is very nice. I wonder if he has already made the acquaintance of George!  
Robin, the older one, is more measured, and he has true gentleman's ways; I must admit that he is a man of rare beauty, whose eyes would upset a lot of women.. including me, if I didn't have an escaped dream, named Gunther Albrecht, in my heart, yet!  
When we said goodbye, the sun was now high in the sky, so I took the road leading to the hotel, imagining George and Susan's surprise not finding me at breakfast; moreover, my dear friend oppression had returned, hand in hand with its boyfriend headache; then, there was no need to linger in the streets, which now were beginning to be too crowded, for my taste.

In the breakfast terrace, I found my cousin and Susan, who, needless to say, sported one of her fashionable plumed hats; George, instead, was inaugurating the day with a cigar among his fingers and that arrogant Gisborne in front of him! It is certain that seeing George dressed in beige is a very rare thing, since in London he always wears dark clothing.  
While we were finishing our meal, the Locksleys entered terrace, a little late for breakfast time, in truth; and immediately, Will recognized and greeted me with his loud and cheerful voice; the same did, but more calm, Robin, addressing me one of his emerald glances, topped by a smile. I do not understand why, at that moment, the lace shirt seemed to me more stifling than the sultry room temperature.

After breakfast, Gisborne proposed a drive to Sidmouth, and needless to say, Susan and George were delighted! Of course, I wasn't able to be the only spoilsport on duty, so I got in the room to change for that which was announcing to be a long day; really, the idea of being tossed around in a car for hours made me nauseous, but I do not think that my condition would have changed if I had stayed here; so ..  
I wore a suit of blue cloth, completed with a hat; watching my petticoated image in the mirror, I had to agree with you: in recent months, I lost about six kilos. Yeah, without sleeping or eating is not so difficult ..!  
Almost a strange similarity, my eyes immediately fell on the painting I had started painting yesterday on the terrace: an indecipherable human figure, little more than a shadow, surrounded by a background of darkness. No recognizable features on face, just a spot of color faded between gray and blue; neither arms, nor legs: only the twist of a figure towards something that it will never reach.  
It was impressive the effect that that sight made in the summer morning bright sun, a striking contrast, almost a mockery to intrusive light that flooded the room: it was as if that strip of dark on the painting laughed at its antagonist, who would like to destroy it, in vain.. much, too much like me, a tormented soul that no resort, no summer sun, no caring cousin may scratch.  
And not even the oppressing heat.

**********

Maybe George is right when he says that I am bloodless: not even the splendid view of Sidmouth reddish headlands was able to excite the smallest emotion inside me!  
For the duration of the trip, George and Gisborne have not stopped speaking for a moment: the main topic of conversation was Gisborne's car, which he is very proud of: he says he would never bear a ride on a carriage, "with the shocks of the road and the smell of the horse!" His words. I do not agree. These engine-things make smoke like a locomotive, with the difference that you get all in your face, and about the shaking.. they have nothing to envy to the carriages!  
My dear cousin, on the contrary, as a good society man, boasted all the advantages of the new mean of transport, and eventually asked him to prove to drive it; which he did after leaving Susan and me to walk down in a city center street.  
For a while, we walked the streets of the little town, lively and full of color; when even our companions have reached us, we walked into a restaurant for lunch; needless to say, my health did not allow me to eat a lot, and with considerable effort, only to not be rude.  
In the afternoon, we visited the ramparts of the city, under the leadership of Gisborne. As we were walking, I thought about the strange events of the morning, the Locksley brothers, the strange barrel-organ man's words.. What did he mean by those words? Why in a holiday resort should you be afraid to walk around at night? Then jumped into my mind the other words he had said to me, before the cheerful group called him back: a year ago something happened that persuaded people to desert the streets at night; but what could it be?  
Suddenly came back to my mind the elder of Locksleys' big green and disarming eyes, who seem to have the power to put me in confusion; don't be afraid, I have not betrayed my English detective's coldness, not with my behavior, at least; but my cheeks are dependent on another's will, unfortunately! So they reddened, in front of my cousin's curious eyes. More in order to take control on myself again, than to divert attention, I then decided to put off the question I most cared about, and I asked Susan and George what happened last year in Torquay so striking to change the habits of the place.  
They said that there was less crowd of tourists then, and someone had the bright idea of organizing a bridge tournament at the hotel; but Gisborne immediately intervened, saying "I think the lady is referring to the murders"; and then my investigator mind stood at attention, wondering what murders he was talking about; George has infiltrated, with words like "Do not exaggerate dear Gisborne, it was just vanishings! It was probably only ladies, bored from the usual routine, who wanted to bring attention to themselves!", "Strange way to do it", replied the other, "making find themselves as dead as a door-nail, the next day in an alley!", "They have done some bad encounter of course: a woman who goes out alone at night.. it can happen!"  
For the rest of the afternoon, we haven't talked about those murders anymore, I wasn't able to learn more. We went up and down for the town, and in the end we finished in a tea room.  
We returned to Torquay just in time for the dinner time. In the dinner hall I saw the Locksleys again, both in dark suits, and Will greeted me politely. About the other one, he shot me another of those smiling looks of his, that have turned off on my lips the words suitable to the occasion I had prepared.  
After the dinner, the headache has given me a little peace; then I think I will take advantage to finish the painting.  
See you soon, my friend.  
Marian Dubois.


	3. Chapter 3- Laudanum

CHAPTER 3  
Laudanum

Note: Since this chapter, you will find a little cross-over with the anime "The Rose of Versailles", but I didn't want to put the label "cross-over" to the whole story, for two reasons: firstly, the two characters who will appear in this story will have no starring roles; secondly, they have no starring roles in the original anime, either.  
  
Torquay, 21 July 1909  
Dear Mrs. Parrett,  
this morning I had another confirmation that sugar can hide much more mud than a real swamp: yet yesterday evening, I tried to pull out some more information from Gisborne about the murders, but with George and Susan in the neighborhood, it was a hopeless deed! She kept saying that I must leave these things be, which would be harmful to my weak health, and I must devote myself instead to the several options of entertainment we have here, he did everything he could to attract his colleague's attention elsewhere! I cannot say that my dear relatives aren't diligent in protecting me, but to be protected, or rather overprotected, gets the effect of stimulating my curiosity just in the forbidden direction; so as soon as back to the hotel, I let come in my room the floor's chambermaid, a very talkative girl, and after presenting her a gift of a pair of hair scrunchies, I asked her if she knew something about the mysterious deaths occurred here a year ago; dear Mrs. Parrett, you are right when you say that, once got the key of the human nature, things come out on their own: I was submerged under a torrent of news!  
Firstly, the women killed were not wandering souls in search of relief by night from bothers of daily life, but ladies and young ladies who spent in Torquay a very normal summer vacation, or even who worked here; then, the disappearances didn't occur at night, but in the afternoon, at most in the evening; and needless to say, all hotels' maids of the area were terrified!  
That pretty girl was even more talkative this morning, when, come to help me to do my hair, she told me that, however, the lower class' fear calmed down a little bit, since the victims were all members of the so-called good society: great ladies, in short, who in their cities of residence used to spend her days in exhibitions, charity, chat over a cup of tea and evenings at theater.  
And here's mud hidden by sugar.  
What may have driven those living room-dolls to fall into murderer's hands? Surely, something dark, something that runs silently in the streets of this seaside town, which on day's stage is used as a vacation spot.  
Something which you cannot have a direct view of, but not for this reason less lethal.  
Indeed, perhaps because of it, more dangerous.  
Cloudy events, apparently dead waters, as I use to name them, hide deadly traps below their stagnant surface.. a motionless water's mirror, as if it is waiting for its victim.. who will disappear under a sea of mud.  
Here's what were certainly those predicaments, who have engulfed those poor ones, giving back them lifeless: _dead waters_.  
All under a layer of sugar.  
Sugar and dead waters.  
A mixture of death.  
So, the key to everything is discovering what is beneath.  
First, let's examine the facts.

Victims were four; they were all around their thirties, attractive enough to attract a man's attention, and belonging either to the upper or to the middle class: apparently, the murderer had no classist ambitions.  
They were killed with a stab settled at the basis of their throat, with a long and sharp object, probably a dagger, but it has never been found; the bodies were found in some lanes and on the beach, in the hours around dawn.

The first victim, a certain Alena Johnson, was staying in this same hotel. She seemed to be an avid whist player, and she never missed an opportunity to challenge this or that guest in the hotel: she is told to have eased several portfolios around here, and this could be a good motive for a murder; except that, it doesn't stand for two reasons: first, after her, have been murdered three other women; and second, when the body was found, it was wearing a large sum of money, and even jewelry.

The second victim was Mary Morrison, a native of Harrogate. She boasted to everyone she has noble origins, at an unappreciated house of Dukes: I don't know how these rumors were true; instead, there are true rumors around the fact that this woman had an affair with the older of Locksleys. Yes, that's right, just the living statue with blond hair, which I talked you about in my previous letter! This thing seems have been going on for most of her holiday time, until, shortly before his departure, he gave her a bouquet of red roses, a token of farewell. And she didn't take it very well. The body was found on the beach, the day after the Locksleys' departure, by a family who was going out for a morning walk, a couple with a teenage daughter: that poor girl has got a permanent shock.

The third victim was a young waitress who worked at a nearby hotel; I know what you're thinking about, my dear, and I have to disappoint you: nothing bad reputation on that girl! Scarlett Norrington (that was her name) was a girl from irreproachable morality, devoted only to work and family, formed by her old father and her sister; at most, she allowed herself some concerts in the park with her work colleagues. However, even for her there was the same sad fate: a stab at the basis of her throat, while she was returning home after work.

About the fourth victim, I can tell you little: she was a stranger, a Spanish, who came to Torquay for a few days with her husband and two children; they were always on their own, partly because of the lack of knowledge of our language; she was very lonely, you often was able to see her walking along the sea on her own. Her husband didn't care much for her condition, in fact even the night of the crime she seemed to have been out as usual; and only when her husband didn't see her back after midnight, he began the searches; searches that ended up in the worst way. Her name was Carmen Vanado.

And this is what I was able to find out from our chambermaid friend, who had a great desire to loosen her tongue.  
The events of last summer have done a lot of stir in this sleepy beach town, their memory is still a subject of conversations hidden behind fans and among chatters about last season at the Royal Court Theatre. And even in the scorching heat of this summer, the memory of those mysterious deaths continues to cause a shudder.

Meanwhile, the seaside comedy goes on: this morning came two guests from France, the Counts Girodelle; he, Victor Clemente, is an officer in the service of the French Republic, good-looking almost as much as the older of Locksleys: athletic, long golden-brown hair down on his back, green eyes, refined and a little affected manners, as a French gentleman; she, Diane, is timid and has a sweet look, brown hair and big smiling brown eyes; she blushes easily if she is spoken to. Both speak pretty good English.  
We immediately saw that they are two French aristocrats, with those attitudes of upper detachment and a taste for all that is beautiful and a little affected; they spend their days shopping in expensive boutiques in the center, or walking on the beach; the Countess is very shy, you cannot find her alone without her husband, except in rare occasions.  
I was able to meet them for lunch, since my dear George wanted to sit at the same table with them: the Count's conversation is brilliant, of great culture, typical of those who leave college. She, instead, speaks very little, she prefers to be listening to the conversation but to intervene actively; George likes her, he sat beside her and poured wine in her glass; the girl answered to these attentions with a few measured words. She gives impression of provincial bourgeois, who married a nobleman in order to gain prestige.

I know what you are thinking: this summer may not enjoy the same aura of mystery of the previous year. But no, my dear friend! It is undoubtedly of a lesser degree, but mystery appeared even in this hot summer: judge yourself.  
Last night, the heat was more sultry than usual, which took away from me every scrap of sleep; so, giving up the bed, I went down again in the hotel's common room. Of course it was deserted, as it was almost midnight, and all the guests were asleep exhausted from whist and walks on the beach. I sat in a dimly lit corner, from which you could see the entrance without being seen; after a while, a singular scene presented itself in front of my eyes: a man came in through the door cautiously, bearing in one hand something looking like an apothecary's pack; amazed, I realized that the man was George: what did he take so compromising to come out and come back at this late hour? And why was he lonely?  
George looked around several times, but he didn't see me, then I saw him going up on the stairs and disappearing. The next morning my doubts were given an answer, which left me even more bewildered about than the doubts themselves.  
With an excuse, I went to my cousins' room, finding the only Susan, because George was already gone down to breakfast; she was still combing her hair with the help of a chambermaid, so I tried to look a bit around; and much surprised I saw, on Susan's night table, the chemist's pack that I had seen the night before in George's hands, pack which now was half open and showed a bottle with an inscription on it: "laudanum."  
I never knew that my acquired cousin took the laudanum, but as you'll see I wasn't able to do further investigation, especially since Susan, noticing my eyes to the bottle left carelessly discovered, rushed to cover it with the apothecary's paper, while trying to get me away from that thought with her lovely conversation. But you can tell a mile away that there is a mystery beneath.  
Laudanum is not castor oil, and it is not easy to be achieved; moreover, if she needs it for some right reason, why rushing to hide it as a cause for shame?

I believe that my quiet summer holiday will be more committed than my job days, my friend!

See you soon, Marian Dubois.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4  
ABSINTHE-GREEN EYES

Torquay, 24 July 1909

Dear Mrs. Parrett,  
is now clear that this vacation will not be a pleasure holiday, for me: the events are going in the opposite direction entirely.  
My sleepless nights continue to torment me, as headache; a few nights ago, they forced me to leave the table during dinner, being profuse in my apologies to George, Susan and the Girodelles; I preferred to close myself up in my room, with the fixed idea to continue the framework which I had spoken to you of: the anxiety was rising in me harder and harder, and I wanted to give vent to it on the picture.  
So, I changed my clothes and opened the window, allowing the night's fresh air to penetrate the hot and oppressive atmosphere that lied heavily on the room; so I sat down in front of the easel waiting for inspiration.  
Inspiration that has not come. The oppressive heat of this absurd summer took possession of my room again, the night's dark curtain has taken possession of my mind again. I have heard from several artists that the night is the best time to create.. of course, creativity is the daughter of _melanchonia obscura_ that plagues artists!  
I was oppressed by gloomy thoughts of death, thoughts who showed it almost as a remedy for the pain and the immense void that afflicts us during life; and these thoughts were absolute masters of my mind for some time: I think that I stayed staring at the canvas for an entire hour, without putting my hand on it; then, I took the brush and added a dark shading to an already dark tones-picture.  
I did not sleep all night, while the heat seemed to have made an agreement with my mind to shut my throat.  
The feverish anxiety that filled me did not want to leave me even a minute: it sucked away all traces of sleep, while putting on me a fatigue so strong to break my bones; so, just before dawn, I lay down on the bed, only to give relief to my limbs, knowing that I would not have been able to sleep; and so I was.  
I saw from my balcony the first daylight painting the sky with purple, then purple became pink, and I saw the sun red disc making its appearance on the horizon. At that point, I decided to leave.  
The roads were still completely deserted, normal because of the early hour; not even the accordion-man was seen strolling along the seafront, as usually.  
Maybe I have walked around one hour; afterwards some human figure began to populate the streets, blinded by the bright light of the summer sun morning; then I felt the vise on my stomach loosening a little, and I took the fan to flap myself , holding the parasol with my other hand; I have slowed down, turning my glance to the beach drawn by the sun, who was getting higher.  
And then I saw him.  
Firstly, just a human figure out of the water, just visible in the clear morning light; then, as he advanced on the beach, the figure took the shape of a half-naked man, wearing only a pair of small white shorts.. that man ruffled his hair, a mass of gold shining in the sunlight..  
And then I recognized him.  
Robin of Locksley.  
I confess, my friend, that never had happened to me in my life feeling so attracted to a man to stay staring at his naked body, unable to look away: my heart was pounding, my breath had become short, and heat.. well, it was more unbearable than ever!  
Don't reprove me: I know what an high society lady should never do, and I admit that I have succumbed to my instinct. But it was only a moment.  
A shocked female voice woke me up from my guilty enchantment; I turned my head toward that voice, seeing a fat old lady dressed in black, muttering against "the shamelessness of today's youth", while she was staring at Locksley, but in a completely different attitude than me!  
Immediately, I recomposed myself. Or at least I tried to.  
Smiling tightly, I made a greeting with my head to the woman, and I went away. I ran away!  
I walked back along the seafront, until I reached the hotel, where it was the breakfast hour; I walked in, breathless, and naturally I met with just George and Susan who came from the breakfast room; of course, my diligent cousin did not fail to notice my altered state (you had to be blind not to notice it!), and he asked me if I was okay; Susan came near me and took me by my arm, making me sit down; then both of them sat near to me and asked me what had happened; I answered that I was chased by a bag-snatcher..  
"Poor dear, what a terrible fright! Let's go to sit on the terrace, a little bit of fresh air will make you feel better; do you come with us, George?",  
"No, I prefer to go upstairs and change my clothes: today is warmer than usual!", he replied.  
So, Susan and I went to sit on the terrace, where Will Scarlett of Locksley, sitting in a corner, was conducting an animated conversation with Gisborne and Girodelle; seeing us, he greeted us, then he came back to hold forth.  
After a few minutes of quiet, my heartbeat seemed to have calmed down, even because I tried not to think about what had happened.. but just in that moment, that's Robin entering there!  
He passed me by.. and smiled at me! Yes, that's right, he smiled at me; but not a polite smile, but a sly smile, like someone who understands each other with his accomplice.  
He had noticed that I had watched him on the beach!  
And the heat again took possession of my throat. Torrid, oppressive heat. Like this absurd summer! Feeling on my back those absinthe-green eyes has been an upsetting experience!  
My God, I wanted to disappear!  
All attempts made by me and Susan just before to calm my heart vanished in the wind.  
But what happens to me? It 's the first time a man inspires me so little innocent thoughts.. but maybe I should not tell you this, who knows what you will think about me.  
Needless to tell, I immediately felt guilty towards Gunther.  
The handsome gentleman went to sit down together with the happy group of men led by his younger brother, and he lit a cigar.  
"Whom that man considers himself?" muttered Susan "Did you see how he winked at us? He is not the only very handsome man in this hotel.. Did you see Girodelle? He is handsome as an ancient statue.. but he would never dream behaving like that! But you're right, dear" she added, in response to an observation whom I had never done " Girodelle is not a bachelor like him! He has a wife, who would be jealous, like all French women!"  
I wanted to say that Girodelle, however beautiful he is, pales in comparison with Locksley.. and Susan has only seen his face! If she had seen everything that I saw this morning..!  
I'm exaggerating, I know; in fact, Gunther's memory gave me a pang in my heart, as if I had done a deadly wrong against him; the memory of our walks in the cool of Central Europe was a thick more painful than other ones, especially in this damn hot!  
The day started with a real storm!

The afternoon announced itself sleepy, George and Gisborne had gone to play cricket somewhere, while I, Susan, Countess Girodelle and a lady from York, Little Fanny, started a bridge match.  
Susan looked tired and almost sleepy, quite different from the morning; then I thought again about the laudanum that I saw in her and George's room.  
Is it likely that she makes continuous use of it? And why, then?  
We did a couple of games, but neither she nor I were interested in the game so much; our two companions, on the contrary, kept an accurate account of the score. We were sitting in a corner of the living room looking out over the waterfront, far enough from either the kitchen or the tea room; there were few clients sitting in the same room, all oppressed by the heat wave.

Suddenly, we heard a big confusion coming from the back: excited voices and noises of dishes moved abruptly. Given the ample distance separating us from that room, we were not able to understand what exactly was happening, but we have seen one of the waitresses coming out running. She was a woman of full adulthood, good-looking, with a pair of proud and cold blue eyes; she crossed the hall running, then she went out on the waterfront; immediately after, a fat scruffy-looking woman came out from the kitchen muttering something: she looked towards the outer door with an appearance of accusation, then she muttered something, and she was back in the kitchen.  
When in the room calm returned, we look each other in our face, abashed for that, so unusual in an English hotel, and Countess Girodelle told of a dismissal which had occurred during her and his husband's staying in a hotel in Deauville, which gave to all the customers an unpleasant theater scene; after it the game started again without obstacles.

But I told you that this is not a pleasure summer.  
And I have good reason!  
The worst, in fact, occurred in the late afternoon, just before dinner.  
All clients were gathered in the hall in front of the dining room, waiting for the bell announcing the dinner hour.  
But instead of the bell, another sound made a very different announcement.  
The same stout lady, whom in the afternoon I saw looking in a bad way the pretty waitress, ran towards to the director's office, shouting "Dead! She is dead!"  
You can imagine the way the agitation has spread among those present in the room, as an expanding spot of oil: _who_ died?  
The manager's reaction did not have to wait long, he came out from his office following the troubled woman, until they both disappeared into the back.  
The initial agitation was mutating in obvious fear, many made mention of last summer crimes.. and they were right! After about an hour, the police called me in the manager's office in the presence of himself, and they explained the situation to me: the waitress who came out from the hotel in the afternoon with much impetuosity from the hotel was murdered, killed with a stab in her throat.  
A striking similarity with the crimes of a year ago, which has alarmed the hotel management.  
They know the work I do, and asked for my help; could I refuse? Of course no!  
So, I asked him to explain the facts as they were gone, and I write them below.  
She had a squabble with the cook, Sarah, and at the end, the waitress went away abruptly before the start of her working time. But around half past seven, that is when her shift would have started, however, she was back: in fact, her body was found in the back yard used by the staff. The police exam has established in an approximate way the time of death.  
I asked to speak with the chef in order to learn the reason of their quarrel, but that one said only that "she was a spoilt and capricious girl, who had no respect for working." Everything and nothing.  
So, now I find in my hands a murder case on vacation, surrounded by the other holiday makers' anxiety and police's expectations; George and Susan would like I do not take care of it, since we came here to rest.. but would you be able to rest in a place where a girl was killed?  
And the heat, as usual, completes the picture.

See you soon, my friend,  
Marian Dubois.


	5. Chapter 5- Basically unhappy

Inizio modulo

CHAPTER 5  
BASICALLY UNHAPPY

Torquay, 26 July 1909

Dear Mrs. Parrett,  
I finally greeted my relaxing vacation, deciding to be concerned with the case: I will help the police in their investigations.  
After all, even with the best intentions, it is not possible to talk about vacation anymore: everyone speaks about nothing else but murder, a few with real terror, others with fear, but everybody with curiosity.

Countess Girodelle refuses to go out for a walk with my cousin Susan and me, if even her husband is not present; many guest ladies literally pester the police commissioner, every time he comes here to carry on the interrogations, while men make suspicious conjectures.  
The younger of Locksleys, on the contrary, seems to be taking it very happily: he never misses a chance to put out one of his witty banters, and he seems amused by the whole situation; yesterday I heard him telling "At least we will have a diversion in this boring life as swimmers!", immediately getting a glare from all present ladies.  
Robin, instead, did not say anything.  
George and Susan are very annoyed by the whole thing, they say that it ruined their holiday, and the worst thing is that the police, because of the interrogations, does not allow anyone to leave the hotel.  
Susan has locked herself in a haughty silence, which definitely conceals a more serious illness; why do I say it? Here's the explanation!  
Yesterday she did not come down to dinner, claiming a headache; when George moved up in their room, after the dinner, I followed him secretly and I approached the door. I know that this behavior is not good for a lady, but my role as investigator had the better of everything! So, I heard him saying "Do not overdo! You've already drunk two glasses, today!", followed by a noise that seemed a glass object placed firmly on a shelf; so I thought about the clandestine laudanum in that night, and I wondered if, behind the bored indifference's blanket, Susan does not conceal an unspeakable fear like other ladies.  
Then, I heard her voice, saying "I need it, it still hurts me!"; and I came back to wonder what could be the reason that drives my cousin to fill up her blood with that poison: physically, she is very well, or so she seems at least; but I know that laudanum is also used to soothe mind torments (I should use it too, to be precise!); but what secret torment can ever have a woman, who in her life has thought only to the parties and to fashionable hats?

I know what you are going to ask me, my friend: whether I had other "encounters" with Robin of Locksley after .. the accident in that morning; well, no: since then, I've always tried to avoid to be alone with him. Please, try to understand: it would be too embarrassing, after between me and him has been established that kind of involuntary complicity .. and then, what should I tell him? "Well done, my lord, it seemed to me to be enjoying a marble statue"? No, definitely it does not seem suited to the situation! And then, there are more serious things to think to: there has been a murder!  
To come back to this topic, there are some things that do not persuade me: for example, why the victim had quarreled with the cook, or why she then came back a few hours after that fact, if, as the cook herself has often repeated, she had been fired on the spot.  
You know very well my stubbornness, I'm not the kind of person to be content with the police's explanations: the words "to take away her stuff" sounded out of place to me; so, I preferred to interrogate the cook myself.  
The stout and hasty Mrs. Sarah was annoyed by this nth interrogation "What I had to say, I've already said to the police!", she blurted out; so, I decided to appeal to her professional pride, and I deplored the waitresses' lack of seriousness at work; as expected, she reacted.  
"Right! They come here with that goody-goody feature, saying that they are looking for a job to sustain their sick mothers, and then actually they go looking for entirely different business!",  
"What kind of business? The female guests' jewels in the hotel, I guess ..",  
"I do not think they come to this. But thinking about the male guests as much more than the customers to be served .. is unbecoming, unbecoming!",  
"You are trying to tell .. that that woman had a love affair with someone of the guests?",  
"If you want to put it in this way ..", she said, swallowing a big drop of wine from a glass,  
"And tell me about .. who would be this .. guest?",  
"I cannot tell you, but without a doubt one immoral man! One who got at seducing a young girl not yet thirty .. Of course she did not do everything alone, that man must have played his part, sure! Maybe he dazzled her with some present, and then she has thought it better to be able to go to London, to live as a great lady, rather than to stay here to wash dishes! It takes little to deceive a so naive and so stupid young woman, who believes the world is full of charming princes, just looking for them with a little-shy-schoolgirl face!".  
The cook accompanied these angry conclusions of hers with another drop of wine, and I have tried to take advantage of the light drunkenness which was taking her, to find out more.  
"And do you think that this man killed her?",  
"But of course! Finished his amusement, he wanted to get rid of the toy, now became uncomfortable!",  
"And do you have no idea about who can that man be?",  
"I've already told you, no. A man with a wife and a family, I think ".  
End of the conversation. I was not able to know anything else.  
Now, I wonder: is it plausible that the murderer may be one of the guests in this hotel? If he is the same for the murders of an year ago, he could be anyone: how many of the guests in this hotel now, lodged here last year too? And if he is really one of the customers, who could be? Men with a wife there are many: John Little and the French Earl Girodelle would be the first ones to be suspected; but if he is an unmarried man instead, who wanted anyway to get rid of a toy, which had become cumbersome? Then would take the field all the others ..  
Even George could be in the list!  
Am I raving, you say? And yet it was you who taught me that in a murder case there are no excluded persons.  
As far as the former co-workers say, the victim did not have boyfriends or intimate male friendships; she used to come out very little, and she attended very few people outside of work, almost all due to her family circle; she was not a particularly glad person, nor capable of great emotional outbursts.  
Dissatisfied with her life and taciturn, she had no friends among work fellows; during breaks from work, she spent her time watching people walking by on the seaside, with an empty and switched off pair of eyes. She often cried.  
She was, without doubt, basically unhappy.

Lately, though, something was changing.  
The woman seemed to have suddenly become cheerful, she used to laugh and to sing even while washing the dishes, and she had bought a new hat; she had also confided to a colleague of hers that she would soon "have abandoned this miserable existence" (her words), and she would have gone to another city. It was evident that she had started a special friendship with a man (as the cook had understood), and she hoped that this man would have taken her away from her life as a waitress; but she miscalculated, if the man in question preferred to get rid of her, rather than to take her with him; and the big girl has suffered the same fate of the poor women who, like her, believe the rascals!  
The real problem is: _who was that man?_  
Firstly, let us examine the time when the crime was committed: the quarrel was in the afternoon, about four o'clock; the body was found at around eight, and according to police doctors she had been killed since at least an hour; so I can place the murder between half past four and seven in the evening; now, who among the hotel's male guests was around during those hours?  
First Girodelle, who came out for a walk around five p.m.; then, there is John Little, who has not been seen until after dinner; and what about the Locksley brothers? They've gone for all afternoon, only to reappear in the dining room!  
Gisborne was with George at the cricket field, which is one hour drive from here: so he should be excluded from the list .. but it is better to read up well before speaking: who ensures that he did not return to the city before, to spend himself on _other things_?  
Getting back this information should not be difficult: Duncan, the hotel's gardener, has a brother who works in the cricket field; so I asked him to get information about it. I can tell you more tonight.

My dear friend, I am writing few words before going to dinner.  
Duncan, the gardener, brought me the information I was looking for from the cricket field, and you cannot imagine my surprise.  
According to the account of Duncan's brother, Gisborne and my cousin left that place at five and a half, getting here an hour later. But I met them at dinner only, that is, at eight. So what they did in that half hour between half-past six and seven? I am sorry about telling it, but I am forced to suspect even George.  
The reel is getting more intricate.

See you soon, my friend,  
Marian Dubois.


	6. Chapter 6-A night of deceptions

CHAPTER 6

A NIGHT OF DECEPTIONS

Torquay, 29 July 1909

Dear Mrs. Parret,

I think that the just gone-by night could, of course, to be named "the night of deceptions".

Some of everything happened: and if I say everything, I mean _everything_, of course!

But let's go on in an ordered way.

Yesterday evening, Susan didn't come to dinner, so after the dinner I went to visit her in their room; I found her extremely exhausted and feverish, and this thing made me be anxious very much, and meanwhile it amazed me, since it had happened in a so sudden way; so, I tried to know more about it, hearing an answer saying that the sea air has probably weakened her: I wouldn't have been able to hear a more foolish pretext! When ever it has been heard that the healthy brackish air demolished anyone?

So, I tried to investigate about the real reasons of her bad health.. but just in that moment, George came into the room, keeping a bottle in his hands, a bottle which I have just been able to see, because he immediately hid it behind his back.

I asked him what he had brought so compromising to be hidden, and he answered me it was just a medicine for Susan's headache; so, I smiled at him, and told "I can guess what it is: LAUDANUM!".

But my cousin is a hard nut to crack: even in front of evidence, he wanted to stick it out!

He persisted in telling that it was a remedy against migraine, and that for this kind of illness laudanum is very used; at that point, I told I preferred to leave the room, because Susan surely had a gorgeous headache to need that remedy, and so she needed relaxing herself very much!

But eccentricities had just become, my friend!

In fact, just come back into my room, I had the good idea to appear at the window; and so, I was able to notice some strange movements down in the garden: I was able to observe at least two persons' presence, who were very interested in not to be discovered, and who were talking animatedly.

I was able to make out clearly that it was a man and a woman's voices, but I couldn't tell who they were exactly; what I know surely is that the woman all at once told "It cannot go on like this!".

The situation was exciting my detective's instinct, so I switched off the light, and I got ready to listen and to try to seize some detail more from that strange conversation, that something told me to be connected with the murder.

But too bad, I wasn't able to understand more: the two ones began to use a so low voice volume, that it was impossible to understand more.

But meanwhile I was going to come back into the room in order to go to bed, good luck gave me an unexpected surprise: the woman entered in a street lamp's cone of light, so I was able to see her clearly; and guess.. Diane Girodelle!

I must tell she was the last woman I expected to see, just she, always so shy and placid.. has a secret affair with another man! Yes, because I don't think the man, I wasn't able to identify, was the Count.. and then, why should a woman meet her own husband in a dimly lit garden, by night and secretly, and above of all, why should she speak with him a different language from theirs? In fact, the Countess and her secret companion were speaking English.

About the man, there was no possibility to understand who he was; but whoever he was, he was in a hurry very much, because he disappeared just after finishing his talk with the Countess.

But surprises weren't finished yet, for this night.

Meanwhile, I had begun to paint again: this time, the painting's subject had Gunther's and my features.. a torn and blooding chested woman, and in the background the shadow of a man going away without showing his face(1).

Without a doubt, my present state of mind's transposition on the painting; I realized that it was the first time _his_ face took a shape in one painting of mine, what it is a step forward of course: if I found the courage to look him again, even if only in a painting, it means I am beginning not to be afraid of my mistake towards him anymore.. or maybe I need only an illusion to be able to do so.

So, I had been painting for half an hour about, when my dear friend anguish (I was missing her!) came back to worry me more than ever: maybe the murder's affair had been able to take my mind off for a while, but when I found out the victim's sad conditions of life and loneliness, well, this wasn't useful for my nerves; so, I immersed myself more in the painting, filling up the canvas with strong and dark colors, like purple and anthracite grey; and when the painting was finished, I felt my temples beating for pain and the pressure in my stomach becoming stronger and stronger. And Susan came back into my mind, with her mysterious, laudanum-scented pain, and George who tried to hide it pathetically.. I wondered why they were forced to keep so many misteries, and it came into my mind that maybe Susan saw something about the murder, something such that she was frightened to die for, since it forces her in those conditions!

But what can be?

Meanwhile I was reflecting upon this, that's some steps resounding in the lobby. Nothing of strange in this, you will say; but those steps were a little suspect, as if their owner was wandering in a cautious attitude, fearing to be seen by someone; the steps went up and down in the lobby, without settling to enter into a specific room; so, I didn't withstand anymore, and went to my room's door, half-opening it enough to see who was outside there: Count Girodelle!

And I can ensure you, my friend, that his behavior was really suspected: he was looking around with his frightened eyes, he walked for few steps, and then he came back; at the end, when I would have thought to see him entering into a room, he descended again towards the main hall!

Maybe a quarter of an hour passed, then I heard two men's voices, speaking down, at the foot of the stairs; my anguish was screaming like ever before; one moment later, I saw Robin of Locksley climbing the stairs till this floor, and a shadow going on towards the second floor; needless to say, I don't know who the shadow can be.

What about the Count Girodelle? I have no idea. All night long I didn't hear anyone climbing the stairs anymore, and since either the painting or anguish let me not to sleep a wink, you can be sure what I am telling you about.

Here everyone seems to have something to be hidden: men look of someone who fears that his own shady affairs are found out suddenly; women seem to be menaced by an invisible enemy.

Maybe I am exaggerating with my comments, but I can ensure you, my friend, that the atmosphere here now is everything but holiday-style!

And everything under a cover of unbearable hot.

Then, last night the air coming from the sea was wetter and hotter than ever, as if even the sea wants to contribute to this black picture, which is more oppressive than the one painted by me!

Gunther.. last night, it seemed to me to see him everywhere: I wouldn't have been amazed to recognize his face on one among the restless nocturnal customers in this hotel; his green eyes smile at me, invisible, from the darkness.. what am I saying? Gunther's eyes are _blue_! Blue, not green! My mind recently plays dirty tricks on me. Maybe because here, there is a pair of _green_ eyes, which gives me no rest!

That man with his perfect face and his perfect body is a real sweet torture for every woman.. or should I say _a trap_, if he is involved in the murders?

I cannot sleep, and I am tortured by thirst; my headache has come back, and it destroyed every possibility to try to sleep, even for a little time.

And anyway, before long it will be dawn.

I regret our evenings in London, spent in studying unsolved cases with Scotland Yards' chief: compared with my present nights in this absurd vacation, they were trips on a boat!

See you soon, my friend,

Marian Dubois.

(1)To have an idea about this painting, you can see Edvard Munch's _Separation_, with changed roles.

**Author's corner: so, I wanna ask you now: who do you think could the murderer be? I think that you have suspects about it.. who?**

**I can tell you only: beware! The facts are not so simple as they appear.. **


End file.
